Saturday, February 24, 2007

Here is chapter 6 of the Life of St. Martin. In the previous excerpt, we saw Martin's encounter with robbers in the Alps and his conversion of one of his erstwhile captors. We find him now, in chapter 6, on his way to convert his parents and his people in Illyria.

Text: When Martin left there and passed by Milan, the devil, taking up a human form, met him and asked him where he was going. When he received an answer from Martin that he was going where God called him, the devil said to Martin (2)"Wherever you go and whatever you should attempt, the devil will oppose you" Then, Martin answered him in a prophetic voice "The Lord is my helper. I will not fear what people do to me." Immediately, the enemy vanished from his sight. (3) Just as he intended, Martin released his mother from pagan error, although his father persevered in evil practices. Nevertheless, he saved many people by his example.

(4) Then, after the Arrian heresy had sprouted up throughout the whole world and, especially, in Illyria, and Martin, often alone, oppossed the treachery of the priests very bitterly and suffered many punishments--for he was beaten in public with rods and driven at last from the city, he headed for Italy. After he discovered the church was disturbed in Gaul also after the departure of Saint Hilary whom the power of the heretics drove into exile, he decided to establish a monastery near Milan. There, also, Auxentius, an author and leader of the Arrians, denounced heavily him, inflicted many injuries on him and drove him from the city. (5) Martin, thinking it was necessary to yield to the times, withdrew with one companion, a priest and a man of the greatest virtue, to an island whose name was Gallinaria. There he lived for some time on plant roots. At that time, he ate hellebore, a poison plant as they say. (6) But when he felt the force the poison advancing and death was near, he drove away the threatening danger with prayer and immediately all pain fled. (7) Not much later, whe he discovered that Saint Hilary was permited to return because the Emperor repented, he rushed to the city of Rome.

Commentary: The first incident is a straight-foward encounter with the devil. Straight-foward, at least, in a hagiographical setting in which we can expect diabolical opposition against a saint and, of course, the saint's successful resistance against it. Martin's response to the devil is a simple affirmation of God as a helper; an affirmation which can be traced back to the Psalms and the OT in general.

The placement of this warning scene is also instructive. We find Martin on the cusp of a major missionary endeavor as well as becoming involved in a vicious international theological dispute (more on that later). In order to accomplish what he is trying to do, Martin will face exceptional resistance. The warning scene sets this expectation up and makes the spiritual stakes involved in the effort very clear.

The conversion of one's family is, of course, a hagiographical commonplace. If one is born from pagan parents, then, one can expect that a saint will convert them before too long. Here the conversion is incomplete, but, then, fathers do tend to resist Christianity more than mothers just as, I think men in antiquity resisted Christianity rather more than women. Just look at Augustine's father, who only converted in later life, after Augustine had been bishop for a time.

The main meat of this passage is Martin's anti-Arian efforts. Remember the period we are talking about. Until Constantius II emergence as the sole ruler of the Empire, efforts in 355, the Western churches had been generally pro-Nicene, although some Illyrian bishops had already shifted to the semi-Arian solution encouraged by Constantius. Once Constantius gained control in the West, the pressure was put on the West to conform to the official imperial religious position. The exile of St. Hilary and other Western leaders was merely one step in this effort. Martin's efforts have to be understood in that context.

It is, of course, striking that the saint's efforts fail pretty much without result. Martin fights Arianism vigourously, placing himself in areas dominated by the Arrians, but he is driven out in both cases. Given the intense pressure on the orthodox Nicenes at this time, we shouldn't be surprised. The heat was definately on as the Western Church was heading towards the Council of Ariminium in 359 which adopted a semi-Arrian, compromise creed under intense imperial pressure. The efforts of one monk was bound to be repulsed.

Yet, the pressure eases up at the end of this episode with news of St. Hilary's return from exile in 360. This return was odd, given Hilary's strong anti-Arrian sentiments. It is explained by suggesting that semi-Arrians wanted him to serve as an intermediary between them and the still Nicene hierarchy in the West or by the suggestion that the more radical Arrians were tired of being beaten in debates against Hilary. I suspect that, whatever the truth of either of these allegations (the first looking much more likely), Constantius was also calculating his advantages in the West in the light of the revolt of Julian in 360. Julian, while secretly a pagan, continued support of the Nicenes in so far as he involved himself in church politics. It was, thus, a helpful gesture to return a major Nicene leader from exile. Constantius certainly did this after Magnentius' revolt when he eased pressure on Nicene bishops in the East during hte civil wars. As soon as he gained full control in the West, he tightened the screws again. In all likelihood, he was planning to do the same thing before death overcame him in 361.

Roger Pierce on Thoughts on Antiquity calls attention to the little known Titus of Bostra, a fifth century Christian author whose works (incluiding a Contra Manichaeos) was discovered in Egypt in the late 19th century.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Well, today is my first year blogging anniversary. For those of you who never saw it, here is my first entry. As you'll see, I've evolved from a eclectic, vaguely Anglican blog to a purely patristic one. Sometimes you just can't predict what direction God is going to lead you.

Thanks for those who have supported me through this year: Jim (my first regular reader), Mike, Kevin and all the rest of you who have given me input over the last year. I appreciate the advice and the commraderie. And, thank you to my wife, who has encouraged me and put up with my occasional disappearence to blog.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Over the last week and a bit, I`ve been engaged in an interesting discussion on The Forbidden Gospels blog about the relationship of history and theology. The discussion has been amicable and useful, but there is a point, I recognize, when one has to come out of rebuttal mode and contribute a positive statement to the mix. So, here we are.

What I want to work out here is what do I mean by a Christian historiographical tradition in the real nitty-gritty of historical writing. I have approached this topic last September in a discussion about what I meant by tradition here. So, I'm already assuming that discussion. I openly associate myself as part of a living tradition which stretches from the patristic era to now. My self-assigned task is to figure out how to write Christian history (which, after all, emerged in the early days of the Constantinian era)in the post-Constantinian milieu in which we find ourselves.

Here are some preliminary thoughts:

1. Christian history is a particular narrative

As Christians, we already have a sense of how history has happened and how it will unfold. We begin with the idea that God created the world, has worked and is working in the world and will redeem the world and His people at the end of history. We know the shape of the narrative and we've seen the opening few acts (as N.T. Wright has said). Our job as historians is to explicate that part of the narrative we have chosen. That means the same thing as non-Christian historians: research, hypothesis and reconstruction of the past on its own terms. The techniques remain the same, even if the assumptions don't.

2. The Christian historian is part of the narrative

This will be a controversial point, largely because what I'm going to argue is counter to the accepted wisdom in historical circles over the past few centuries. We all have been taught for as long as we have been studying history (however long that is) that the historian is an independent observer of the events. I don't buy that because I don't think it is either possible or desirable to be outside of the flow of events. Even with the 'humanist' or modernist tradition, for all of their rhetoric, doesn't do this because they too have an implicit narrative. What I am doing is making explicit that I am in the Christian tradition and that I am explaining the narrative in which I find myself in. This may cause some to dismiss my comments, but I'm sure if I've already put them off already.

However, what I gain in recognizing my place in the Christian narrative is to make explicit where I am coming from. That is all very post-modern and all, but, if only out of honesty, I feel compelled to make that clear. Besides, I also affirm my committement to understanding Christian history and tradition as the coherent whole that it is. 'Humanist' historiograpy is so focused on analysis and dissection that it looses the coherence that a tradition represents. As a result, history becomes random or determined by forces outside the human dimension. We look for causes ,not coherence; for explanations, not wisdom. When we follow that procedure, we are all impoverished.

3. Christian history is methodologically rigourous

One of the criticism of the Christian historical tradition is that it is too uncritical, too credulous. Even when we filter out modernist polemical assumptions in this criticism, I think we have to concede that this has been true far too often. One of the reasons for this is that the Christian historical tradition has been every bit about apologetics as it has been about history for its own sake. This makes sense because, if we understand history in the proper sense, it can be a powerful proof for the faith. Yet, I think we have to be careful not to put scoring apologetic points over historical accuracy. In point of fact, this apologetic strategy inevitably backfires because, if our opponents are able to refute our vision of history, any benefits we had from scoring our point are instantly negated, but, worse, we are immediately put on the defensive. If we've stretch a point in one place, where else have we done it? For our own good, we need to be rigourous in our historical thinking and practice.

4. Christian history focuses on different things.

I'm still working out what this means, but, as Christian historians, we have to fundamentally shift our focus in our historical writing from the way that it has been practiced in recent centuries. History's focus in both the ancient and modern period has always been the human dimension which has led a concern with the 'big' events and people of history whose influence affects us all in real, tangible ways. It is important to know how, for instance, the Presidency of the United States has developed over the two hundred and more years of its existence, because it affects us profoundly today, whether we are American or not.

Yet, Christian history, as Eusebius alludes to in his preface to the fifth book of the Ecclesiastical History (I comment more on this passage here), cannot stop with merely the powerful and the smart. It has to consider the odd ways in which God has entered history. This means that there must be a shift in focus from an over-emphasis on the powers and principalities of this world towards attention to what appear to us to be minor events, but whose spiritual significance is vast. After all, the struggles of a Lutheran pastor in the late 1980s led to the peaceful marches which helped to bring down East Germany's communist government and, with it, the rest of the Communist bloc. That is, I concede, a rather too dramatic example, but I hope it demonstrates what I'm driving at.

This point isn't going to make sense to my non-Christian readers or even to those with sound academic training. I'm not sure it makes much sense to me, so I will have to continue to try to make sense of what I'm saying here.

5. Christian history sometimes needs to call for confession.

These next two points are linked. One of the criticisms of Christian history is its tendency towards triumphalism: a presumption that the present times are seeing or are about to see the final consummation of God's kingdom in the world. Part of that tendency is the kind of realized eschatology implicit in the kind of Constantinian dream introduced by Eusebius in those heady years after the end of the Great Persecution and the beginning of imperial preference towards Christainity. Understandably, Eusebius and others in the 320s and 330s felt that God, through Constantine, was building a Christian Empire and they were eager to show their support for it. One of the unfortunate consequences of this experience was that this excitement blinded us to the fact that, while the Kingdom of God was at hand so we must act like it is here, it was not yet here.

The simple fact of the matter is that Christians have continued to screw-up, sin and do evil over the last two thousand years. We have to be ready to own up to that. Glossing over our past mistakes and sins discredits our witness and gives us a reputation of being extremely tendentious historians. I'm not saying we have take the blame for everything that has gone wrong in the last two thousand years (as some of our opponents would allege), but we have to concede that we, the Church, have been complicit in many things because of our alliance with the State or simply out of our own pride/weakness/anger. As historians, we have to be ready to admit this because this is the first step to seeking forgiveness. If our communities don't recognize these faults, we have to remind them of the historical record for our own good.

6. Christian history is hopeful, not triumphalistic.

This is the corollary of the previous point. Since we do understand a pattern to history which includes looking towards an fulfillment of our historical experience on earth, we have to assume an eschatology in which God redeems us and his Creation. Yet, the point of this eschatology shouldn't be a "Yeah, we win", partly for the simple fact that we don't win, God does. The fulfillment of history isn't about us, but rather about God's redemptive purpose. That should lead us to bringing hope both to fellow Christians and non-Christians about what has come, what has happened and what will come. As ugly as history gets, we should remember that God is working out his purposes in it and that we will see a fulfillment of it in which God's redemption will become clear.

This is, of course, a theological statement, but it should govern us about how we Christian historians write the history before us. We cannot presume that humanity is in control of all history nor should we presume that we are mere playthings of God. Somewhere in between is the middle ground which the Christian historian has staked out.

I hope that, somehow these preliminary thoughts have made some sense. Let me know what you think.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

I'm coming to the conclusion that the patristic garden is a busier place than I first thought. While a few of us live in the garden, there is a fair number of people popping in for a visit. I hope you enjoy this week's offerings.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Well, it is time for another installment of the Life of St. Martin. In this excerpt, we find Martin, newly discharged from the army, seeking guidance from the renowned bishop of Poitiers, Hilary.

Text(5) After he left military service, Martin sought out the holy Hilary, Bishop of Poitiers, whose faith in the things of God was obvious and well-known. He stayed with him for some time. (2) Hilary tried to bind Martin more closely to him and to win him over to the divine ministry by making him a deacon . After Martin refused again and again, declaring that he was unworthy, Hilary, who was shrewd man, perceived that Martin could only be bound in one way: by imposing on him a task which he would take as injurious. So, he ordered Martin to become an exorcist. Martin did not refuse his ordination so that he would not seem to despise so humble a position. (3) Not much later, Martin was warned in a dream that, out of pious concern, he should visit his homeland and parents who up to then remained pagan. He left on the holy Hilary’s orders, bound by many prayers and tears that he should return. They say that he entered into that journey sadly, bearing witness to the brothers that he would endure the many hardships which he later experienced. (4) First, while he was travelling in a deserted stretch, he met bandits. When one of them lifted an axe and poised the blade over Martin’s head, another held the right hand of the man who was about to strike. With his hands bound behind his back, Martin was handed over as a slave and reward to one of them. When that robber led Martin to a more remote spot, he began to ask him who he was. (5) Martin answered that he was a Christian. The robber asked Martin whether he was frightened. Martin answered very calmly that he was never so secure because he knew that the mercy of God was especially present in his trials. Indeed, he grieved more for the robber, who, because he engaged in banditry, was unworthy of Christ’s mercy. (6) He entered into a discussion of the Gospel and declared the word of God to the robber. Why should I delay longer? The robber believed, followed Martin and returned him to the road, praying that Martin should pray to the Lord for him. The robber later was seen leading a religious life. This story which we reported above, was based on an account from him

Commentary:

The place to start with this passage is Hilary of Poitier. St. Hilary is a notable Church Father in his own right, a veteran of the Arian disputes and best known to us for his work to explain the Trinity to Western, Latin speaking audiences. He was made bishop of Poitiers sometime around 350 AD and became embroiled in the Arian disputes which had been raging since the 330s in the East. With the overthrow of the pro-Nicene Constans and the semi-Arian Constantius II's victory against Constans' murderer, the anti-Arian West found itself under the same pressure that the anti-Arian party in the East had been facing since the death of Constantine and the accession of Constantius II to the throne in 337. By 356, Hilary was condemned and sent into exile in Phyrgia until 360. This gave him the opportunity to learn more of what the Greek anti-Arians were arguing which led to his work on the Trinty which served to mediate this Eastern understanding of the Nicene solution to Latin-speaking audiences.

This exile establishes a terminus ante quem for this incident: sometime before 356, since Hilary was in exile after that. This chronology has been questioned by some, but the mention of Julian makes it just possible that they could have coincided. Julian became Caesar in November of 355, but only really made his reputation in 356. If we presume that Martin was discharged at the beginning of the campaign of 356 (which seems implied from the previous passage's reference to a mustering of the troops and the distribution of imperial largess), makes it possible that Martin went to Poitiers and stayed with Hilary for some months. It is a tight chronology, but it could just work.

The office of exorcist was one of the Minor Orders of the church and is known in the Western church from the 250s. The primary duties included exorcising (driving out evil spirits) catechumens and helping those afflicted with demonic influences. Sulpicius seems to suggest this office was seen as fairly humble which is why Hilary was able to get Martin to take it. He is making a point about Martin's humility as well as Hilary's cleverness.

The return of Martin to his homeland makes sense. Given his conversion to Christianity, one can sympathize with his desire to spread the Word among his own people and his family. This is, of course, in the long line of converts setting out to convert their own people.

The encounter of Martin with the robbers is a good example of the interaction between the criminal and the holy monk which we see in monastic literature. It is, in effect, the opportunity to display the monk's contempt of death and the power of Christianity to convert even the most hardened reprobate. Martin's discussion with his new owner establishes Martin's confidence in his salvation. This is meant to recall Paul's confidence in prison, but also, I think, to evoke Jesus' interactions with the thieves on the cross. Martin's confidence in God converts his new master just as Jesus' example of the cross converts the good thief.

Now, I'm not equating Martin and Jesus. Clearly, Jesus is Jesus, the son of God, but there is a connection. If we understand the task of the Christian to be the imitation of Christ, it makes sense that there should be, in saints' lives, attention to the points when that imitation becomes manifest. Martin demonstrates this confidence because Jesus did. Sulpicius, by highlighting this episode, is also making a point about how far Martin has gone in his imitation of Christ. Not that this imitation is about imitating the actions of Christ so much as his inner attitude. These parallels are meant to suggest that Martin is participating so fully in the life of Christ that he is starting to act like Him.